


Unrequited

by shitty_phan



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:07:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22089868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shitty_phan/pseuds/shitty_phan
Summary: Aziraphale’s thoughts and feelings about Crowley after the apocalypse. May write a chapter on Crowley’s thoughts and feelings and perhaps a nice happy conclusion because they deserve it.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I’ve been reading a fuck ton of fanfic over Christmas and it put me in the mood to write some stuff from the Ineffable Husbands perspectives. Chiefly, Aziraphale. I’ve been toying with the idea for a little while and I just really wanted to explore Aziraphale in a bit more detail. I really wanted to know why he feels the way he does, so in this fic I explore his insecurities and why he thinks that his love is unrequited. I’m sorry that this is kind of sad, but I might write a happy ending and/or a Crowley’s version of this. 
> 
> If you read this then I hope you enjoy the fic :)

Aziraphale watched as Crowley made his way out of the bookshop, silently willing him to stay. 

As usual he cursed his cowardice; even while inebriated he couldn’t bring himself to ask Crowley to stay with him. It was something that Aziraphale thought about a lot. He was almost certain that Crowley would say yes (if he could only muster up enough courage to ask), yet the little voice in the back of his mind always managed to stop him in his tracks, leaving him to silently watch as Crowley made his way out of the bookshop with a cheery  
“Night, Angel,” as he left.

And perhaps, Aziraphale though with a resigned sigh, the voice in his head was right. 

If he did ask Crowley to stay the night, and Crowley, by some miracle, did actually agree, then Aziraphale knew there was a very real danger of him admitting the way he felt about Crowley. And Aziraphale also knew that this was something he could not afford to do. 

Millennia of being an angel had taught Aziraphale that the best thing to do was simply to keep his true feelings hidden. Crowley was very real proof that something so seemingly inconsequential as daring to ask a few questions could send an Angel tumbling down into the depths of hell, and while Aziraphale had his own doubts about the Ineffable Plan, that was something he truly couldn’t risk happening. Although the cold, calculating nature of Heaven made Aziraphale shudder (the Archangels little “visit” certainly left a firm imprint on his mind), he knew that Hell was indefinitely worse. He was sure that the horror stories Crowley relaid to him barely scratched the surface of the kind of unspeakably wretched place it was, and Aziraphale could not imagine being surrounded by such misery. Despite knowing of the other Angels’ disapproval, he loved the world and everything in it. Being cut off from Her grace and forced to bring pain and suffering to the very creatures he had grown to love so deeply would be torture. 

Therefore, Aziraphale learnt to keep shtum. Kept his feelings hidden and played along with Gabriel’s little game, meeting Crowley in secret and trying not to dwell on what the consequences might be.

Of course, all that was over now. The apocalypse came and went, it’s events ensuring that Aziraphale was very definitively in Heaven’s bad books. By some miracle (and Aziraphale definitely saw the irony of the phrasing), he had not been cast out from Heaven, although considering what Heaven had planned for him he wondered which was the better alternative. He was still shocked by this every time he thought about it.

It was understandable that Hell would try and destroy Crowley for his misgivings - Aziraphale had expected as much, and had always been aware that Hell would be merciless if Crowley was caught. This was understandable to him; ultimately Hell was evil and set in their ways. But Heaven, well that was a different story. Heaven were the “Good Guys”, righteous bearers of light thwarting evil. Therefore it came as a shock to him when Crowley told him what they had done to him; what they would have done to Aziraphale had Crowley not taken his place. It was unthinkable, Heaven working with Hell to destroy one of their own Angels. Aziraphale knew they had been angry that he had stopped the apocalypse, but enough to do this?

Deep down, Aziraphale knew that Heaven weren’t as squeaky clean as they seemed, and this only helped to accentuate this idea, but Aziraphale desperately wanted to believe that Heaven were Good. 

Throughout the build up to the apocalypse Aziraphale has turned away from Crowley, truly believing that Heaven would want to stop the war and keep the peace and harmony. Crowley, of course, knew the nature of Heaven, but Aziraphale had foolishly refused to listen to him, denouncing their friendship and hurting Crowley deeply, all because he could not bring himself to accept the truth.

Crowley may have forgiven him for the things he said but Aziraphale has never quite forgiven himself. Crowley would face the wrath of literal Hell for him, yet he could not even admit that he and Crowley were friends, let alone denounce Heaven the way Crowley had denounced his side. 

And here he was again, denouncing his feelings for Crowley. 

Every single time Crowley had chosen him, going out of his way to keep him out of trouble, showing up like his knight in shining armour on multiple occasions, yet Aziraphale still couldn’t bring himself to choose him. Even now, even when Heaven was no longer a threat. He could feel the shame bubbling up inside him. 

Even if Crowley did not feel the same, he deserved to know the truth.

Although of course, said the voice in his head, there is no possibility of him feeling the same.

Aziraphale tried to ignore this thought, but always found that it wormed it’s way back into his head. There were times when Aziraphale wondered if Crowley felt the same, but always dismissed it as him seeing what he wanted to. Besides, he wasn’t even sure that Demons could feel love.

He knew the way that the humans viewed Crowley. He had plenty of people, mainly young, pretty girls lusting after him. Not that Crowley ever encouraged or reciprocated any of their advances, but Aziraphale knew that by human standards, Crowley was an object of envy for many. They certainly found Crowley attractive, and Aziraphale couldn’t blame them. It was not something he wanted to admit, even to himself, but he did think Crowley was rather dashing. His lanky form always dressed in the latest fashions, the way his hips swayed as he walked, and oh, those eyes. Those beautiful serpentine eyes. At times they looked nearly golden, and Aziraphale tried his best not to stare at them for fear he might get lost in them. It was such a pity that Crowley always wore those glasses.

He often found himself dwelling on Crowley’s beauty. Of course, this meant that the voice in his head felt the need to remind him of his own looks. 

While Aziraphale saw the way humans looked at Crowley, he also knew the way humans looked at him. By human standards he was “getting on in years”, to borrow a human expression, and his figure was not one that most humans would desire, the voice in his head felt the need to chip in. He supposed it was right though. 

At best people would described him as plump, and on one occasion that Aziraphale tries not to think about, he had been called a fat bumbling idiot, followed by a very derogatory word for gay people. Crowley had, of course, come to his defence, but the damage had been done. 

Aziraphale also knew that his clothing did not help in any way. He wore clothing that was so out of date that it could be described as vintage, and it did not flatter him in the way Crowley’s sharp suit did.

All of his doubts only helped to fuel his assumption that Crowley could not possibly feel the same way about him. Even Gabriel had suggested that he “lose the gut”, for goodness sake. 

The fear of rejection was the thing that made Aziraphale so afraid of revealing the truth the most. Not just that Crowley wouldn’t feel the same, but that he wouldn’t want to spend time with Aziraphale anymore. That he would be repulsed by his friend’s attraction. That he would give him a disgusted look and saunter out of his life forever. Aziraphale didn’t think he could handle that. 

So Aziraphale kept his mouth shut. And every time Crowley visited, he resisted the urge to ask him to stay, and tried to tell himself that he was content with the way things were. Even if there could never be anything more between him and Crowley, this was enough.


	2. Get thee behind me foul fiend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically the same thing as the first chapter but this time it’s Crowley’s turn.
> 
> Him struggling with the idea that Aziraphale won’t ever love him because of his demonic nature (downright deluded demon) and having a semi mental breakdown in the street but you know how it is, it’s all totally tickety boo.
> 
> If I update this I promise there will be a resolution at some point :)

Crowley left Aziraphale’s bookshop, making his way to the sleek, black Bentley parked outside. He had wished the Angel goodnight and left with a wave, after citing the excuse that it was getting late and that he ought to get to bed. 

He knew that Aziraphale had his own things to do, and he would hate to impose, or out stay his welcome. Besides, If Aziraphale wanted him to stay longer, then surely he would say?

Crowley desperately wanted Aziraphale to ask him to stay, but had long since accepted that this was something that would never happen. Perhaps a step like that was simply “too fast” for him. 

Of course things had changed since the botched apocalypse, chiefly that they were spending more time with each other than ever, as Heaven and Hell were no longer on their backs; at least for the time being, anyway. Although, Crowley could never tell if his presence was unwanted. 

He had always been the one to admit that the two were friends, heaven, he had been the one to approach Aziraphale in the Garden all those years ago. Aziraphale has always been the one to deny that they even knew each other, quick to push him away and remind him of his place.

His place. That was the thing that got to Crowley the most. He knew deep down that the reason Aziraphale would never love him back, no matter what he did, was because he was a demon. The lowest of the low, scum, cast out of Heaven and unworthy of God’s grace. And the grace of an Angel for that matter.

He just simply wasn’t good enough.

And that stung. Heaven’s rejection had hurt, and the Fall that followed had been agony. Even now he could remember hearing his own screams echo into empty space as he plummeted from Heaven while his wings were engulfed in flames. 

Yet still, the rejection of the Almighty and the fall did not seem to hurt nearly so much as Aziraphale’s rejection did.

Even when it seemed as though Aziraphale was on “our own side” with him, the events leading up to the apocalypse had proven otherwise. 

Even when the end of the world approached Aziraphale still couldn’t even admit to Crowley that they were friends. 

Over the years he had grown used to this, although it never seemed to make it hurt any less. 

How pathetic, a Demon in love with an Angel. 

Idly Crowley wondered if this was all part of Her plan, if this was some celestial joke for Her amusement. It wouldn’t surprise him in the slightest. 

All he had ever done was ask questions. Was that really so bad?

“Was it?” He screamed. He fell to his knees, his whole body shaking. Tears rolled down his cheeks like the first rain of Eden, and he began to sob. The noises he made were raw; the embodiment of pain itself. If a human were to look upon him now they would see something animalistic, something visceral, his mortal corporation no longer enough to contain the entirety of his hurt. 

He had always tried to conceal the pain he felt, cracking jokes and adopting a carefree attitude to help him cope. It appeared to outsiders as though he was unaffected by everything that happened, and he liked it that way. If there was one thing he had learnt from Hell it was that pain could be weaponised. 

But now, now he could hide his pain no longer. The cracks were beginning to show, causing the dam to break and letting out a torrent of emotions.

Eventually he managed to cease the endless stream of tears and shakily began to pick up the pieces. 

This was fine; he was fine. He didn’t need comfort or support thank you very much. 

Tomorrow he would call Aziraphale, and perhaps they would go out for lunch, or go and feed the ducks. He could pretend as though this had never happened, and everything would be tickety damn boo.


End file.
